


denial

by largoindminor



Series: wincest love week 2015 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, M/M, Mentions of Violence, animal cruelty, mentions of torture, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>something's not quite right about sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	denial

**Author's Note:**

> wincest love week day 5

In ‘92 they spend a Summer with Pastor Jim and while John’s hunting a wolf pack North of the Canadian Border. Jim brings home a present for the boys, a little hamster, _Hamlet_ the hamster, on loan from his Sunday school class. At thirteen Dean considers himself too old to get excited over it, but Sam’s eyes grow wide with interest when he sees the thing. Wide and _dark_ in that way Sam’s eyes sometimes go when he thinks no one’s looking. Dean files the look away in his mind, in the padlocked box marked _denial_.

A week later when Dean hears a strange noise coming from the attic he walks in to find a furiously spinning hamster ball containing one hamster and one Titleist golf ball. One _dead_ hamster and one _red-smudged_ Titleist golf ball.

“Did it die?” Sammy’s little boy voice is laced with feigned innocence and the fine hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end.

“You know it did,” he answers, already thinking up a lie for Jim.

Next to _denial_ there’s a new box, one marked _Hamlet._

* * *

 

In the Fall of '94 they spend a month in Vermont following a lead on some shifter. It’s acorn season and the squirrels and chipmunks are out in force, _sign of a bad winter comin’_ , the locals say with serious nods. Dean sees one in the grass by the motel parking lot after school one day, lying on it’s back, belly split open and red. _Probably got hit by a car_ he thinks even though the pavement’s fifteen feet away.

Later as he’s emptying the day’s take out cartons into the motel dumpster he spies it again, looks like someone went to toss in out too but dropped it just short. Dean’s less bothered by dead things than any teen age boy ought to be, so he stoops down and uses the plastic shopping bag in his hand to pick it up and toss it in the dumpster as well. Only it’s not the same squirrel, when he looks at it, it’s got a series of parallel slices running up it’s sides. _Precise_ slices.

After Sam goes to sleep Dean rifles through his backpack until he finds the butterfly knife. When he opens it there’s still a bit of fur clinging to the tip.

* * *

In Winter '96 they’re staying with Bobby for a month when one of his dogs runs away.

“Dean and I will go looking for it, Uncle Bobby,” Sam offers with exaggerated sincerity. Dean protests, doesn’t want to go looking for a damn dog in the tundral woods behind Bobby’s house, but Sam drags him along out into the dark.

“He’s not far from here,” Sam whispers after they walk a while and Dean clenches his eyes shut tight, _No_ he’s screaming in his mind, _No no no,_ but it’s no use because Sam’s got him by the hand still and he’s leading him. He’s _telling_ him.

The hounds frozen stiff to the ground by the time they get to it, blood from the wound on its neck crystallized into ruby icicles.

There’s not room in his mind for a box big enough to mark _dog._

* * *

“Why, Sam?” he asks later, like it matters.

Sam shrugs, his lips pressed together in a sullen pout, “Just _because_ Dean. I can’t explain it. I… I _have_ to do it. I _need_ it.”

“Only animals?” Dean’s not sure he wants the answer.

“So far.”

Dean was right.

* * *

In '98 Sam goes on his first proper hunt and Dean had hoped hunting monsters would satisfy Sam’s needs, but it didn’t, if anything it made them more pronounced. Hunts were quick and violent, lots of blood sure, but there was no time to _savor_ it. Killing monsters and doing what Sam did, those were two completely different things.

Sam tries to explain it to Dean in the one sticky Summer night, crawls onto Dean’s bed and straddles him in the dark, plasters his skinny body over Deans and whispers into his neck, “It’s like the difference Sarah Bailey from geometry sucking your dick, which is _fine,”_ he slithers down Dean’s body and slips his fingers under the elastic of Dean’s shorts, “and your little brother sucking your dick, which you _crave_ _.”_

Dean’s too stunned to do anything but groan and tangle his hand through Sam’s damp shaggy hair. He comes down Sam’s throat and wishes that he didn’t understand. But he does.

* * *

The first one they picked out together. A middle aged man, and not a very good one. Mean to his kids, hits his wife, starts drunken brawls at bars then drives home blitzed. A guy who wouldn’t really be missed. A guy who has it coming.

Dean helps subdue him, drives them to the abandoned weigh station off of a disused portion of the Pennsylvania turnpike, but that’s all. Even a guy like this, Dean can’t bring himself to hurt him, can’t bring himself to think this is ok. Sam ties the man down and takes his time, screams and pleas stretch out through the night and dissolve into nothing and Dean waits in the car trying to hold back the urge to vomit.

Sam comes to him when he’s done, sweaty and wild eyed and already removing the bloodstained clothes he’d had on.

“I need you to fuck me Dean. Right now.”

Dean does.

* * *

The next one wasn’t planned. Just a waitress, Stacey, blonde and petite with a great ass, and she’d flirted with Dean all night while they drank and shot pool. He noticed Sam giving her the evil eye but this was nothing new. Dean flirted, Sam sulked, they’d go home, like any other night.

Except when Sam says he’s ready to go, says he going out to the parking lot to get the car he doesn’t tell Dean that he’s going to detour through the kitchen and grab himself a party favor. By the time Dean notices the banging from the trunk over the fifth track of _Ride the Lightning,_ it’s too late to do anything but go along with it.

Sam fucks him after he’s done with Stacey, bends him over the hood of the impala and takes him rough with bruising fingers and sharp teeth, _Mine,_ Sam says over and over, _you belong to me, they can’t have you. I’ll kill them all, Dean, every last one._

“Yours,” Dean answers despite his best efforts not to, because no matter what kind of monster Sam is, Dean can’t bring himself to do anything but love him, “yours, Sammy,” as he comes blindingly hard against the smooth cool metal.

* * *

There’s no boxes marked _denial_ in Dean’s mind anymore, none for Hamlet the hamster, none for that nameless dog or the string of nameless men and women since. There’s one left, though, in the dusty corners of his mind where he doesn’t go. It’s wrapped in chain with three weight plates stacked on top of it. It’s labeled _Dean._


End file.
